


Talk to Him

by citrinesunset



Category: Inception
Genre: Domestic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-20
Updated: 2012-05-20
Packaged: 2017-11-05 19:20:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citrinesunset/pseuds/citrinesunset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur and Cobb try to make a life together. Having a family makes Arthur question his career. Cobb doesn't know how to communicate, and doesn't understand what Arthur wants as well as he thinks he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talk to Him

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a short, easy, simple fic to give me a chance to write something for my favorite pairing. Well, it's short. Though, this is the easiest fic of mine to summarize.

 

Arthur didn't like to be vulnerable. Dom knew this.

 

It was why Arthur was so selective in his loyalty. Back when he and Dom were just friends, Arthur would do almost anything for him. Sometimes, it even made Dom feel guilty, because he suspected Arthur might die for him if it came down to it.

 

These days, Arthur made boundaries.

 

"I'm not quitting extraction," he'd said.

 

"We don't need to define what we're doing."

 

"I don't need any of your money."

 

"I need to get away sometimes. If we don't get a break, we'll drive each other crazy."

 

Dom had heard all of this. He got the message.

 

Arthur was like a wild animal – try to cage him and he'd get antsy.

 

Then, that summer, Arthur returned from a job in Belfast with his stomach covered in bruises.

 

Dom didn't notice at first. He didn't see any discomfort when Arthur hugged James and Phillipa, and if there was any stiffness in his walk, Dom chalked that up to the long hours on the plane.

 

It was only later, when they were undressing for bed, that Dom saw the ugly, yellowing bruises.

 

"Jesus Christ," he said. "What happened?"

 

Arthur averted his eyes and tossed his shirt into the hamper. "It's not as bad as it looks," he assured him. "Don't worry – it's not the sort of trouble that will follow me home."

 

They had an unspoken agreement that that was the only thing Dom had any business worrying about. As long as Arthur's business didn't bleed into Dom's life, or into the kids' lives, Arthur didn't owe any explanations or excuses.

 

But what if Arthur was a part of Dom's life? What if the kids would miss him if he didn't come home? What then?

 

Arthur stripped down to his boxers and gingerly climbed into bed. Hell, he must have been in pain still, and it was too late in the day for him to hide it anymore.

 

Dom joined him.

 

After a moment, Arthur said, "It was just some trouble with the mark's bodyguard. I probably should have said something on the phone, but I didn't want to worry you."

 

He always worried about Arthur. But he never told Arthur that. He understood it would make Arthur feel trapped.

 

"I know you take care of yourself," Dom said.

 

"Of course." Arthur pulled the sheet up to his chest, covering the bruises. Staring at the ceiling, he said, "You know how the business is – a lot of jobs are routine, anyway."

 

He was holding something back. His tone was hesitant, and Dom worried for a minute that there was more to the trouble in Belfast than he was letting on.

 

"Don't get me wrong," Arthur continued, "I wasn't in any real danger out there. But for a little bit, all I could think about was getting home to you."

 

"And you did," Dom said. "You always do."

 

That was all Dom ever asked for. That Arthur always returned to L.A.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was only in the morning that Dom thought about what Arthur had said to him. And by that time, Arthur was done talking about Belfast.

 

It was strange to think that Arthur worried about not making it home. Arthur seemed so confident, so unshakeable, that it'd never occurred to Dom that he ever worried.

 

He didn't expect Arthur to admit to it again.

 

Later, Dom left James and Phillipa with Arthur while he ran out for groceries. Before he left, he made sure Arthur was out of earshot and told the kids that Arthur was tired from his trip, and that they should go easy on him.

 

Arthur would have far too much pride to take care of his own bruised body.

 

When Dom returned, James was curled up asleep on the sofa and Arthur was sitting at the kitchen table with Phillipa. He was barefoot and his hair was falling into his face. He had Phillipa's toy car upside down in front of him, and he was fixing the wheel that had come off the other day.

 

"Look, Dad! Arthur's fixing my car!" Phillipa exclaimed when Dom came in.

 

"I see." Dom put the grocery bags on the counter, and watched a little guiltily. "I'm sorry I didn't get around to fixing that yesterday, honey."

 

"That's okay," Phillipa said brightly. "Arthur's better at fixing stuff than you are."

 

Dom bit his tongue and swallowed his pride.

 

"Hey, now," Arthur said, "your dad's good at fixing lots of stuff."

 

Arthur was being kind. He hadn't been so generous a few months back, when he'd sat in that same chair smirking while Dom tried to fix the kitchen sink. He'd been insufferable until Dom finally delegated the job to him.

 

But Dom knew he was lucky to have Arthur around to help out.

 

That night, Dom sat in bed reading a magazine while Arthur brushed his teeth in the bathroom. Dom couldn't see him, but Arthur's shadow stretched out of the open doorway.

 

Arthur turned off the faucet. Still in the bathroom, he asked, "It didn't bother you that I fixed Phillipa's toy, did it?"

 

"'Course not. Why would it?"

 

"I don't know. I just don't want to overstep my bounds."

 

"You're not," he said. "I can handle being outdone sometimes, you know." He paused and added, "Actually, I like that Phillipa looks up to you. You're good with her and James"

 

"I've always gotten along with kids okay. Always assumed I'd have some of my own someday, when the time was right."

 

"I'm not having any more," Dom said. "James and Phillipa are it for me."

 

He immediately wished he hadn't said it. He and Arthur had never talked about those things. He had no reason to think Arthur would want to have a kid with him. Even the thought of adopting, with Arthur's shady career and Dom's past, felt ridiculous.

 

He hoped Arthur would take the statement as a neutral comment.

 

"No, of course," Arthur said after a pause. "It doesn't bother me. That they're not mine, I mean."

 

He came out of the bathroom and pulled back the covers on his side of the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight as he climbed in.

 

"Just let me know if I overstep my bounds."

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

The truth was, Dom didn't know how to talk to Arthur.

 

With Mal, it'd been easy. When he asked Mal to marry him, he barely thought about it. He didn't even have ring. But Dom had been foolish back then, as well as young. The future was just a dream, not something he could lose.

 

He didn't know how to talk _about_ Arthur, either. He didn't know how to refer to him when he spoke to the neighbors or the teachers at Phillipa's school.

 

There'd been men before Arthur, of course. Mostly drunken encounters during Dom's college years, before he'd met Mal. Enough to know what he was doing.

 

But sometimes, he worried it wasn't enough. That perhaps he hadn't learned how to be with another man. Maybe that was why he always worried about doing things wrong, and didn't know if he should call Arthur his boyfriend or his partner.

 

In his calmer moments, he suspected it was just how things were between them. Arthur could spend whole days without saying more than a few words to Dom. He would move through the house so quietly in his stocking feet that Dom wouldn't even know he was there if he didn't feel Arthur's presence like a charge in the air.

 

But most of all, he thought that talking would break the spell. If he asked Arthur the things he wanted to ask, or let him know that he called him his partner sometimes when he wasn't around to hear it, then Arthur would find a job somewhere on the other side of the world and pack his bags overnight. Just to get away for a while.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

After Belfast, Arthur didn't take another job right away. He usually put at least a few weeks between jobs, but as the weeks stretched into months, and the weather started to turn cool, Dom realized at some point how long it'd been.

 

He noticed how often Arthur ignored his phone when it rang, and then listened to his messages without returning them.

 

Finally, he asked, "No jobs turning up these days?"

 

"A few. Nothing worth the time."

 

They were reading the paper together at the kitchen table. The kids were in bed.

 

"I was just wondering. Seems longer this time."

 

Arthur kept his eyes on the paper, but his mouth curled into a smile. "Getting sick of me?"

 

Before Dom could voice his denial, Arthur continued. "To be honest, I need a break. Maybe if I wait another month I'll have my energy back."

 

He sounded tired. Dom frowned.

 

Leaning across the table, he said, "You're not too young to retire from it, you know."

 

Arthur peered intensely over the edge of the paper. "We've been over this...."

 

Dom held up his hands defensively and sat back. "Okay, fair enough. But I worry, all right? You come home injured, and now you're avoiding going back into the field. Look me in the eye and tell me you're happy, and I won't say another word about it. I swear."

 

Arthur didn't say anything. He let go of one side of the paper to rub his hand over his face. The paper drooped down on the table.

 

"Look," Dom said, "I know you don't want me to support you. Fine, I get it. Just don't do this to yourself out of pride. You've got enough of your own money to retire on."

 

Arthur looked up at him. "You don't get it. I used to love this business." He folded the paper and sighed. "One of these days, I'm going to get killed." There was cold certainty in his voice, like this was something he'd known for a long time. "I told myself I didn't have a problem knowing someone was waiting for me at home. But I don't know anymore."

 

Dom had thought once that he wanted to hear this. Now, he wasn't sure.

 

He thought of Mal. What if Arthur ended up the same way, lost because Dom made him doubt what he'd once believed in?

 

"I just want you to be happy," Dom said.

 

Arthur blinked at him, and smiled. "I _am_ , you idiot. With you."

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

"How long have we been together?" Dom asked.

 

He'd just stepped out onto the back porch. Arthur had finished mowing the lawn and was sitting on the steps, gulping down a bottle of water. The lawnmower still sat in the grass a few feet away.

 

Arthur set the bottle down. "Depends how you look at it. Three years, I guess. We never decided on an anniversary. Probably too late now."

 

Dom nodded. Arthur looked at him over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow.

 

"Why do you ask?"

 

"I've just been thinking lately. We haven't talked a lot about what we're doing here, but maybe it's time to think about making it legal."

 

Arthur stared at him. "What? You're asking me to marry you?"

 

Dom's face grew hot. His chest was pounding so hard it almost drowned out Arthur's voice. "I guess you could look at it that way. What I'm saying is, we need to think about the future. If something happened to me, I want to make sure you get the house. I want the kids to stay with you."

 

Marriage was romantic. Signing papers and making an appointment with Dom's lawyer was practical. Arthur had never had any use for romance. Dom knew from years of working with Arthur that the only way to appeal to him was through logic.

 

Arthur got up and walked over to Dom. "Gotta hand it to you, you've got interesting timing for a proposal."

 

He smelled like grass, sweat, and oil from the lawnmower. He put his hands on Dom's cheeks and kissed him.

 

When Arthur pulled back, Dom said, "I'm not trying to push you into anything."

 

Arthur grinned. "Are you kidding? Of course I'll marry you."

 


End file.
